


The Dragon Diner

by WackyGoofball



Series: Tumblr Medley [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brienne is a waitress, F/M, I thought it'd just post it here too, Mistaken Identity, based on an anonymous tumblr prompt, in a diner, maybe OOC in Brienne's case, well - sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 08:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6186808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/pseuds/WackyGoofball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a tumblr prompt by anonymous: "JB quick fic - your prompt, Brienne is a waitress at a diner, Jaime's car breaks down and he's there waiting for it to be fixed."</p><p>Well, that summarizes it pretty well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dragon Diner

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I decided to post my tumblr fics and ficlets here as well, in case someone is interested.
> 
> Thanks another time for the prompt, anon, whoever and wherever you may be. ☺

Jaime taps his fingers on the tabletop of the diner in a dead-end village he forgot the name of.

 _Of course_ his car had to break down in the middle of nowhere.

So now, here he sits in the diner with fading paint and a jukebox playing the kinds of songs that maybe his father would have listened to back in his younger days… though Jaime doubts that Tywin Lannister ever enjoyed anything as “meaningless” as music, “meaningless” indicating that it doesn’t help enlarge the family wealth.

Just thirty more minutes, then he can start his stroll back into town to the grumpy mechanic who will hopefully have his car fixed by then.

“Good day, sir, and welcome to the _Dragon Diner_. Can I get you anything?” a flat voice rings out. Jaime whips his head around to see a very tall woman with blonde hair and stunning blue eyes standing before him, with an annoyed facial expression, in the diner’s uniform with red-white stripes and a way too short skirt – to the point that the apron is longer to cover the delicate bits, and a way too tight blouse – to the point that the buttons are that close from springing open.

And just like that, Jaime’s mood turned 180 degrees around.

“Hi there…,” Jaime greets her, blinking at her nametag. “ _Margaery_ , uhm, is there anything you can recommend to me? I’m not from here, so…”

He flashes the brightest smile he can. She opens her mouth wordlessly a few times, but then replies, “Today’s special are the Poor Knights with maple syrup, coffee, and a side dish of your choice. If you want to have a look at our menu, then…”

Margaery wants to hand him the menu, but he interrupts her, “… What are those Poor Knights and what is your favorite side dish?”

“… French Toasts. The… scrambled eggs are alright. You can’t screw up those anyways, so they are a safe bet,” she replies, keeping her eyes stubbornly fixed on the notepad.

“Ah, French and scrambled eggs, two of my favorite things,” he chuckles. The waitress blushes to the tip of her ears.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll bring your order in a bit,” she tells him stiffly before rushing off, pulling her skirt down in a futile attempt as she goes. Jaime starts to drum with his fingers on the tabletop again, but this time to the rhythm of the song playing over the old jukebox.

Gladly, he is the only customer there, so Margaery reappears little time later with the plate of food and the coffee.

“Thank you, Margaery,” he grins. “Lovely name, may I add?”

“Is there anything else you need, sir?” she asks, trying to ignore him.

“Well, company would be nice,” he grins.

“I’m at work, sir,” Margaery argues.

“And I’m the only customer here,” Jaime tells her with a smug grin.

The way she blushes and squirms in her not-fitting uniform is just too delicious.

“Look, as I said, I’m not from here. My car just broke down, and I don’t know how long it’ll take. I had to walk three miles to the next gas station, my phone’s battery died, and the mechanic is about as lovely in character as a rabid bobcat. I need a bit of human interaction that goes beyond a man growling at me,” Jaime says. The woman tilts her head to the side, “Well, Sandor Clegane is easily angered when you interrupt him during his free time.”

“It was only a few hours back,” Jaime argues, starting on the French toast and scrambled eggs.

Not too bad, really.

“He chooses his free time on his own,” she argues.

“So, what brings a woman like you into a diner like this?” Jaime drawls, plopping French toast into his mouth with a self-conscious grin.

“Work. What brings you into the middle of nowhere?”

“Coincidentally, work, too. See? We do have quite a lot in common,” Jaime chuckles. “I’m supposed to meet up with a business partner in Summerhall.”

“Why didn’t you take the plane?” Margaery asks.

“I don’t like to fly, for all the good it’s done me,” he grins. “Well, but at least I found this charming restaurant.”

“ _Charming_? This is a rat hole,” she huffs.

“Way to advertise your working place,” he chuckles, amused.

“I’m helping out, no more,” she says.

“Aha, so that means there is a life outside that fabulous diner?” he asks, pointing at the flaking off wall paint.

“No, I live here, right behind the jukebox.”

“Hm, looks cozy,” he grins. “So, Margaery. Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?”

“Why should I? I don’t even know your name,” she argues.

“Oh, how rude of me,” Jaime shakes his head. “The name’s Jaime Lannister. Pleasure, Margaery.”

“ _Pleasure_.”

“So… back to you.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“But I told you my name just now! You could give me something, a hint, _anything_!” he smiles, feigning disappointment, picking at the remaining French toast.

“That still doesn’t mean I have to tell you about myself,” she argues.

“Well, if you don’t tell me anything, I will have to guess,” he warns her, sipping some of the coffee.

The coffee is definitely crap.

“Good luck with that.”

“I’m good at reading people. Not as good as my brother, but still better than most,” he smirks, leaning on his forearms, looking her deep in her big blue eyes. “You are a local.”

She just keeps looking at him, her gaze so intense that Jaime would love to keep looking at her for much longer.

“Your other job should be something freelance, or else you couldn’t help out here. Maybe the _Dragon Diner_ belongs to your family? Could be. That would explain why you’d help out here. You work out, _a lot_. Or else that uniform wouldn’t sit as wonderfully tight as it does…”

She looks down herself, flustered, and Jaime doesn’t even have to look down to know that she crosses her legs a lot now.

“And if I’m not mistaken, you enjoy yourself having conversation with me about as much as I enjoy myself talking to you.”

Margaery chews on the inside of her cheek, running her free hand through her blonde short hair.

“So, now you tell me – where was I correct?”

“Nowhere,” she replies with a grin as she gets up, grabbing his empty plate. “Is there anything else I can do for you? I suppose you have to head out soon to get your car?”

“Indeed. Well, then just the bill, I suppose,” he grimaces. Margaery flashes a smile before turning around and away – and Jaime can do nothing but savor that view from behind.

Gladly, aprons only have fabric in the front…

Once Margaery reappears, she wears a jacket, much to his surprise _and_ disappointment. Even if the blue brings out the color of her eyes wonderfully. 

She hands him the bill.

“Are you about to go?” he asks. 

“It’s home time,” Margaery shrugs. Jaime gives her the money, with a bigger tip than usual. She goes back to the register and locks it.

“I’m leaving, Goodwin!” she calls out. 

“Have a good day!” an older man’s voice rings out from the kitchen. 

“You, too!”

Jaime glances at the bill, twisting it in his fingers as the blonde Amazon whooshes past him, but then stops, “You can stay here in case you need to wait longer. The owner will be here for another hour. If you need more coffee, just call out. He’s in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, uhm, thank you. It was nice meeting you, Margaery.”

“Mr. Lannister.”

“Jaime.”

“ _Jaime_ ,” she repeats with a small smile.

And by the Seven, he loves the way she says his name.

With that, she makes her way to the door. Jaime folds up the bill – if only as a small reminder of that day – but then sees that someone has written on the back of the bill. He quickly unfolds it again and flips the paper over.

* * *

_For future reference:_

_1) I’m not really a local. I’m from Tarth.  
_

_2) I don’t work freelance._  
I work for Renly Baratheon,   
but I can mostly work from home.   


_3) I don’t work out – I do sports, the real deal._  
Marathon, kickboxing, and MMA,   
not the ‘work out’ with pink free weights and the like.  


_4) The owner of the shop is a dear friend of mine.  
_

_5) You are way too full of yourself and your lame pickup lines.  
_

_6) My name is not Margaery._  
My name is **Brienne**.   
I just subbed for her – and had to take her uniform,   
even though she is very petite. 

_P.S. If you want me to give you a lift back to town instead of walking all the way,  
you should better hurry up. _

* * *

Jaime lets out a laugh, but then quickly makes his way outside, to see her waving at him from her convertible.

“So, _Brienne_ , huh? Why didn’t you say anything?” he says as he approaches the car, leaning on the side of the car, flashing a smug grin.

“You didn’t ask…. And anyway… No flirting at the working place.”

“And what is _this_ here?” he asks, equally amused and fascinated. 

“No longer work,” she replies with a small grin. “So, will you get in any time soon? Or else I will drive off without you.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t do that to me,” he argues, walking over to the other side of the car.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she challenges him. 

And by the Seven, does Jaime love a challenge. 

“You wrote me a love letter, dear, that’s why.”

“That was _no_ love letter.”

“Yes it was.”

“It was not.”

“I could do this all day – or the rest of my life, indeed.”

“You’re leaving once you get your car, you genius. Business meeting, remember?”

“I could stay. I’m ahead of schedule anyways. Maybe a quick trip over to Tarth?”

“You wish.”

“I do. And I think that wish will become true.”

“What makes you think that?”

“The blush on your freckled cheeks tells me everything, my lady.”

“I’m not your lady.”

“You will be.”

“Shut up.”

“Nope.”

“You’ll walk if you don’t quit it.”

“You’re too kind-hearted for that.”

“Watch me.”

“Always.”


End file.
